


Sherlock Holmes and the Mysterious Potato

by QueensandBC



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M, Teen Romance, Teen Sherlock, farmer - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 03:02:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7667707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueensandBC/pseuds/QueensandBC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This started as an inside joke, but then it grew to a full on novel. Everyone is teens. John is a potato farmer and his prize winning potato has been stolen by Jim Moriarty, and who does he have to turn to other than Sherlock. No porn so if you are looking for that it's not here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

John Watson really liked potatoes. So, upon having his prize winning potato of pride stolen at the Sussex county fair, he was distraught. As he was telling his woes to his farmer friend Mike Stamford, it gave him hope to know that Mike knew a city guy who could solve all Johns problems.   
"That's awesome! Maybe he knows about eggplants too!" said John.   
On the train to London, John was nervous. He had Googled Sherlock Holmes before coming, and his resume was a little more extensive than rescuing rogue potatoes. According to Sherlock's website, he had previously rescued three whole carrots in Duncastershire, had won his high school's award for most agriculturally-aware student, and could recognize 57 different types of dirt on sight.  
When John got to the house, we was first struck with the smell of dog and cigarettes.   
"Smoking is bad for you," John thought; perhaps this Sherlock Holmes was more of a rebel than John had expected.   
A young man answered the door, wearing a tie and a stiff smile.  
"Who are YOU?" John queried.  
"Sherlock? You've got another one," the man yelled irritably.   
"You don't think I already know that? Honestly Mycroft..."  
"He can forget his manners sometimes..." but the rest of Mycroft's the sentence John didn't hear.  
Suddenly, the young man at the door turned around at the sound of loud footsteps crashing down the creaking wooden stairs. John peered past his greeter to get a better look at the newcomer.   
He was wearing an open blue flowing dressing gown and beige capri pants, but that odd combination was the least of John's focuses. He was first struck with the 16 year olds height, unruly hair, and the fact that he wasn't wearing a shirt.  
"Potato," John blurted out.  
The 16 year old gazed at him with a mixture of cynicism and curiosity.  
"The root vegetable?" He clarified.  
"Yes, well no."  
"Mycroft, this could prove very interesting. Arrange for mother to be busy tonight."  
"What's in it for me?"   
There was something about Mycroft's expression that made John all the sudden infuriated, before he realized the childish nature of the sentence.  
The 16 year old (who John could only presume was THE Sherlock Holmes, vegetable-saving genius), however, looked at the young man calmly.  
"Mycroft, enough with your bloody power complex. We all know you aren't the smart one."  
"I AM the smart one," he fired back.  
John, not wanting to see these two fight like 12 year old girls, cleared his throat abruptly.  
"Hi, yeah, sorry, still here. My potato?"   
"Mycroft, this poor young man needs to see a man about a potato, are you going to get in his way?"  
Mycroft rolled his eyes and just said, "Jenkins will be notified." before walking out the door.   
John blinked. "So I don't think we've met, yeah? I'm-"  
"John Watson. Fifth Northumberland Farming Squad. Livestock or crops?"  
"I'm sorry?"  
"Livestock or crops, which do you prefer?"  
"Umm, I do love my goats, but my real passion is potato farming."  
Sherlock Holmes smiled dryly. "Oh, this is very good. Can I use your phone? I need to make a call."  
"Of course"  
Just as John had handed over his phone, he noticed that Sherlock Holmes had a gun hanging out of his dressing gown pocket.  
Sherlock accepted the phone, and turned it over in his palm.  
"How's your brother?" He demanded, tapping the numbers on the keypad.  
Baffled, John gasped. "How's it that you have a gun?"  
"I asked first."  
"It's a sister, actually."  
"Statistic improbability" Sherlock muttered, biting the words with anger, like he had lost a hand at black jack.   
"This is amazing and all, but I don't see how it's relevant to my potato."  
Sherlock sighed with something resembling annoyance and inconvenience.  
"Surely you'd understand, John. It is rather... elementary. From the chipping on the phone, I'd say the phone is not first hand, it has been given to you. Presumably by an older sibling, seeing as you can't be older than what, fifteen?"  
John snorted. "Sixteen," he grumbled indignantly, suddenly reminded of what he must look like to the taller man.  
"Anyways. The phone is chipped in a manner that would suggest the user was a bit rebellious. No offence, but you grow potatoes for a living. The first owner obviously couldn't have been you. But who else would give you a used phone, if not an older sibling? It's not a parent, we already established that the previous owner was rebellious. Plus, from using this phone, I can see the follicles of dirt on the screen. From these follicles, I can tell that your missing potato is of the Sweet Potato variety."  
John gaped. "Holy cow!"  
"I will ignore the irony of that sentence, seeing that your family is religious farmers."  
"Alright, I am being repeatedly amazed, but my potato can't really wait so if you don't mind-"  
"No, of course. Come inside."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Sherlock has caught wind of this potato thievery, its time to get down to business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER do not be frightened by the events of this chapter.

Chapter 2

Sherlock had invited John into his bedroom, if you could call it that. He could hardly see the bed under books and mysterious looking liquids, some spilling out of beakers and tubes. A Bunsen burner laid on its side, dangerously close to a pile of clothes. In the middle of the room was a lone wooden chair, facing a grey armchair, the only two things in the room that weren't completely littered with what John considered junk. Sherlock motioned for John to sit in the wooden chair, while Sherlock sprawled out like a model on the comfier one.   
"Well this is... mysterious," John vocalized.   
Sherlock, apparently, did not hear him.  
"This potato of yours, John... you were fond of it?"  
John nodded. "Oh yeah. It was a prize winner, that one. I want it back. Mike said you would help me."  
"And I will. But first... Tea?"  
John looked at his surroundings and didn't think tea was the best idea. He was clumsy to begin with and didn't want to spill his tea and look like an idiot in front of the amazing Sherlock Holmes.   
Like he sensed John's distress, Sherlock said, "If you're worried about spilling it, that shouldn't bother you. Honestly, the stuff in here could cause more damage to you than you and the tea could cause to it."  
John was aghast. "Great. That's... That's awesome, and sounds really safe. Great."  
"Don't worry, I keep anything really dangerous in Mycroft's room. So, why don't you tell me more about this potato. When did your crop start?"  
John contemplated this with great care.  
"Well like you said, it's a sweet potato. I started growing the whole batch this spring. Sweet potatoes thrive in the spring air, you see."  
Sherlock scoffed. "Yes, boring, I know. Anything else?"  
Although John was greatly offended by the first comment, he went on.   
"This potato was unique because of its clear complexion and perfect oval shape. I had gone to many fairs with this one and it'd won most beautiful potato every time. I was thinking about calling Guinness book-"  
Sherlock's expression had slowly turned into Johns face during family dinners. When he looked up and saw this, John tried to get back on topic.   
"Well that's besides the point. This potato has a lot of sentimental value to me, and I want it back. This is no ordinary tater, Sherlock Holmes. So. Any theories? Enlighten me."  
Sherlock rested his head on his steepled hands and glared at the far wall of his bedroom.  
"I'm not much of a potato person. I've always preferred eggplants, personally. However, there are many things I'm certain of."  
"Those would be?"  
"Well, I know for a fact that your prized potato is still intact. It is being held in Sussex... By a terrible man. A man known as... Jim Moriarty."  
John was sceptic. "From Moriarty farms, the biggest farming company in Europe?"  
"He has a network of farmers everywhere. No regular farmer is safe."  
"Sounds like a farm Mafia." John chuckled.  
"It is very much like the Mafia," Sherlock said with a dead serious expression, "but these members handle all of Europe's food. The threat is real."  
"How very... mysterious," John said.  
Sherlock kept out of the chair and began pacing about the bedroom.  
"Moriarty is clever. We mustn't underestimate him, John Watson. He preys on things like sentiment."  
Sherlock spat out that last word with distaste. "We can't let your potato become the crack in the glass. The fly in the ointment."  
John furrowed his brow. "You've lost me."  
"Never mind that. Now, I need you to tell me everything you know about the last time you saw your potato. If order to get the best memory of the even possible, I'm going to ask you to close your eyes and do just as I say. This is bigger than your potato now John, it's about justice for farmers everywhere."  
John tried desperately to recollect memories of his beloved and cherished potato. "I last saw it at the Sussex County Fair. It won the blue ribbon for most beautiful potato. It was sitting on a high pedestal. Then, before I knew it, it was falling to the barn floor. I scrambled to grab it, but it was lost in the mayhem. Moriarty must've snatched it."  
Sherlock wandered over to his nightstand and plucked at the strings on his violin. "Alright, John. In order for me to entirely understand the circumstance, I need you to do something for me."  
John stiffened. "Okay...?"  
Sherlock backed away slowly, reaching his arm out. "Keep your eyes fixed on me."  
John clenched his fists. "Sherlock, no."  
Sherlock nodded. "This is what people do, isn't it?"  
John shook his head. "No. No."  
Sherlock spread his arms out dramatically to the side, and suddenly but surely, launched himself into a fall. He landed with a loud splat on his bed.  
"Sherlock!" John called out.  
Sherlock rolled off the bed, and brushed off his clothes. "You see, John, I was being the potato. In order to understand the potato, you have to BE the potato. It's so obvious... Why John, this is textbook! I know where we have to go!"  
And with that, Sherlock took the gun out of his pocket and took off his dressing gown, leaving him in only his capris. He reached for a purple shirt near the top of his pile of clothes and put the small silver revolver in his pant pocket.  
John, feeling immensely uncomfortable, shifted on his chair and asked, "So, are we... Going somewhere? For my potato?"  
Sherlock reached for a hair comb and fixed his hair a bit, making John unintentionally clear his throat.   
"Normally I would tell you to go home, but I think you could be useful. Do keep up."   
And with that, Sherlock swung on a long, tight fitting coat and was out the door, leaving John scrambling after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't want to scare y'all with the Rickenbacker fall impression, but couldn't resist. PLEASE REVIEW!!!!!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John never expected to be swept into this whirlwind journey, but his love of potatoes will prevail against fear.

Chapter 3  
"Climb on" Sherlock called from around the corner in his driveway. When John turned the corner after him, he discovered he was referring to a Motorcycle sitting behind a white Bentley.   
John regarded the motorcycle with immense scepticism.  
"Oh hell no," John said.  
Sherlock chucked a lime green helmet at John.  
"If you don't want to come, by all means, leave." he said, almost daring him to do so.  
John weighed his options. If he left now, he may miss the only opportunity he has to actually help the farming community, and most importantly save his potato. There was also something very endearing and mysterious about the taller man. Without knowing him, he already trusted him.  
John took a deep breath and rolled his eyes.  
"Yeah. Yeah, okay. I'm coming," John said, strapping the obnoxiously coloured helmet on his head.  
Sherlock smiled. "The potato is afoot, John."  
Sherlock carefully placed a black helmet onto his own head and revved the engine obnoxiously. John was struck with the smell of gasoline and overpowering noise.  
Sherlock was surprisingly skillful at driving the hefty vehicle, and drove it skillfully round corners and bends, using mostly back roads. They drove for what felt like ages, all the way to downtown London. John was starting to worry if he would be back for his curfew, when the motorcycle came to a jarring halt, swinging the back of the bike and leaving tire tracks in its wake.  
John smiled under his helmet, getting the feeling that Sherlock was showing off for some reason but not caring.   
They'd driven all the way to the West End, when Sherlock screeched to a halt in front of a brick brimstone home.   
"Is this Moriarty's house then?" John demanded.  
Sherlock snorted, and unclasped the helmet. He tousled his curls absently and turned around to face John.  
"Don't be absurd," he snapped. "Moriarty doesn't have a singular address, John. We're here to see someone else."  
Sherlock hopped off the bike, and scurried to the door of the home. John trailed along behind him, mumbling about how mysterious this whole scenario was.  
Sherlock knocked on the door aggressively, and it immediately swung open.  
On the opposite side of the door stood a young man who looked a bit older than Sherlock and John.  
"Sherlock!" He exclaimed. "What can I do for you?"  
"Hello, Lestrade. This is John Watson. He's lost a potato."  
Lestrade looked aghast. "Blimey. I'm sorry, mate."  
John nodded appreciatively while Sherlock continued.  
"Lestrade is in his first year of the criminal justice program at university. He has access to the legal library which contains a record of previous vegetable criminals, John."  
Lestrade shook his head. "I can't give you the key card into that library, Sherlock. Potatoes aren't my division."  
"I was actually hoping for something else. It has to do with a mutual...Acquaintance." Sherlock said the last word softly, as if he know that Lestrade would know who he was referring to.  
"Oh, bloody hell, him too?" He said, gesturing to John. "That's different than. Come inside."  
Lestrade moved to the side and gestured for them to come in.   
Sherlock shedded his coat onto a nearby coat hook and made his way to what appeared to be a sitting room.  
"Anderson is here. Why would you invite me in when Anderson is here Lestrade?"  
"Well he lives here Sherlock, he tends to be here. Unless you want to kick him out and pay his portion of the rent-"  
"No, thank you. I will tolerate it. For now. If you don't mind, I'll be-"  
Sherlock was cut off when there came the sound of footsteps from upstairs.  
"Is freak down there?" called a woman's voice.  
John looked on in confusion as Sherlock walked over to the base of the stairs and shouted up, "Ahh, hello Donavon! Lovely to see you again too."  
Lestrade elbowed John. "That's Sally Donavon, she rents the flat upstairs. And this here, this is Philip Anderson. We all go to the same program. They don't... appreciate Sherlock's smarts as much as I do."  
Sherlock strode back into the room, eyeing Anderson suspiciously.  
"Gabe Lestrade-"  
"My name is Greg, Sherlock, honestly."  
"Greg Lestrade, this potato thievery is of national importance. I don't feel comfortable discussing it in front of idiots."  
Anderson scoffed. "I'm not an idiot! I'm in the criminal justice program!"  
Sherlock sighed, stalked over to Anderson, grabbed his arm, and led him from the room. "Yes, thank you for your input," Sherlock said sardonically, and shoved him from the room. "Now Lestrade, I need you to listen very carefully to John's story."  
Now that the room was empty of the other housemates, John took a seat in the messy living room and recounted what he had said to Sherlock.  
After listening carefully to the full recount, Lestrade was aghast.  
"I never thought that Moriarty could be so careless! He is slipping up, Sherlock."  
"Lestrade, how will you ever make it as a detective if you only look at the obvious. He isn't slipping up, he wants to be noticed. He wants me to engage."  
Lestrade shook his head, the fear in his eyes too powerful to be concealed.  
"You can't possibly be thinking of-"  
Sherlock nodded. "I see no other option."  
John looked back and forth between the two.  
"What are we talking about here?" he asked, feeling disgruntled at the exclusion.  
Sherlock didn't respond. Instead, he turned to Lestrade. "I assume we can always call her up and see whether we can go to the St. Bart's lab at the university?"  
John scrunched his nose. "Who's 'her'? What are you talking about? We're going to a lab now?"  
Lestrade nodded. "I'm sure she'd let us in, Sherlock. She always does. And now that there's a potato on the line, she'll understand. God this is fun, this bit. Should we go?"  
Sherlock looked at John, and nodded. "Shall we?"  
John got up from the chair, and clenched his fists. "Care to tell me what we're doing?"  
Sherlock smiled. "We're going to see Molly Hooper."  
Before John could reply, a person came flying down the stairs.  
"Gregory Lestrade!" The woman exclaimed, who John assumed was Sally Donavan. "You are NOT blowing me off AGAIN tonight to run around with Freak! You're too old for this shit! This mysterious, freaky shit! You just helped him with a case last week!"  
Lestrade shrugged. "Maybe I fancied another one?"  
Sally stormed out, complaining about how unreliable he was.  
Sherlock went to the door and threw it open. Lestrade followed close behind him, and Sherlock turned back to see John standing bewildered in the middle of the room.  
"You're a farmer, John," Sherlock said. "I'm sure you've seen enough potatoes for a life time."  
"Damn right," John replied.  
"Care to see some more?"  
John blinked. "Oh God, yes."  
And with that, the trio ran from the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEEEEEASE REVIEW!!!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks Bryce for my car inspiration. Time to go meet Molly!

Chapter 4

Much to John's relief, in stead of taking the bike to their next location they all clamoured into Lestrade's car. The trees hanging from the rear view couldn't mask the smell of old lady, which confused John.  
"I got this car from my grandparents. The Air Conditioning doesn't really work so are you cool with rolling down the windows?"  
Sherlock was already rolling down his, and John was reminded that riding in Lestrade's vehicle must be routine for Sherlock.  
John sat in the middle seat on the back bench seat, his hands folded in his lap awkwardly.  
"So," he began. "This Molly Hooper person. What exactly does she do, and how is she going to help me find my potato?"  
Lestrade turned around to face John.  
"She's the leading potato specialist in England!" Lestrade exclaimed.  
Sherlock shot a glare at Lestrade.  
"She isn't the BEST," Sherlock retaliated. "I'd consider myself to be much better versed in the subject. I just use her lab equipment at St. Bart's, because it is superior to my own."  
Lestrade scoffed, turning down a side street.  
"I will examine the follicles on your phone under Molly's microscope," Sherlock explained. "I want to learn all I can about your potato's genetic composition."  
John nodded curtly. "Lestrade, what will you do?"  
Lestrade put on his sunglasses and looked at John in the backseat through his rearview mirror. "I drive the car, mostly."  
John chuckled. "I'm sure you do more than that, if Sherlock is calling you up."  
"He is fairly useful when it comes to information access. But he mostly just drives."  
John felt like he should apologize for Sherlock's insensitive comment, but Lestrade seemed unfazed.   
"Are you sure Molly will let us in Sherlock? Seeing as the last time you-"  
"I know exactly what happened and I know that she will let me in and do what I need to do."  
Thinking it better to ignore the incident they were referring to, John asked,"So Lestrade, how do you know this Moriarty fellow?"  
Lestrade's expression suddenly turned sour.   
"Don't you think you're the only one who has a history of vegetable thievery in their pasts. I went into the Criminal Justice program because of him. I was once a pumpkin farmer west of London. My family worked their whole lives on this farm, and we were known for our gigantic pumpkins. I'm talking the size of cars, they were amazing."  
Lestrade's reminiscing was getting on Sherlock's nerves, John could tell. Lestrade continued regardless.   
"But then, the fall I turned twelve, a member of Moriarty's farming network turned up. The bloke said he wanted to buy our entire harvest of pumpkins, but instead he stole them so Moriarty could patent the seeds. My family was without income for the whole year. I enrolled in the criminal justice program to make right in the world, you know? I want to help bring that bugger down."  
Sherlock had been staring out the window, but suddenly tuned back into the conversation and rolled his eyes.  
"Lestrade, do shut up," Sherlock implored. "Your nostalgic retelling is hardly integral to the case at hand."  
Lestrade just shook his head and stopped talking.   
"John, what of your other Potatoes? Do you breed them to fit with a certain appearance or was your potato a singular occurrence?"  
"Oh, this potato came out of nowhere. I never really focus on the appearance of my potatoes, it's all about the taste and consistency."  
Sherlock nodded his head in approval of Johns farming habits.  
"But then, there was just this potato like no other potato I had ever seen."  
Sherlock suddenly spun around and faced John in the back seat.  
"How isolated is your farm? Is it on a main road? What part of the field was the potato from? ANSWER ME JOHN."  
John was shocked at this sudden outburst.  
"Our farm is just outside of Sussex. I believe the potato was grown in the middle of the field..."  
Sherlock tossed his arms up in desperation. "No! No! No! All wrong! This can't be right!"  
With almost manic enthusiasm, Sherlock placed his fingertips to his temples and shut his eyes. John looked on in confusion, before glancing to Lestrade for an explanation.  
"He does this thing sometimes," Lestrade said, shrugging his shoulders in Sherlock's direction. "It's called his mind palace. He creates this place in his mind where he stores information so technically he can never forget anything."  
John choked out a laugh. "It's a palace? Not a bungalow or a farmhouse or something."  
Lestrade whistled. "Nope, it's a palace. Funny choice of location I think, but to each their own."  
John nodded, not quite understanding, but letting it go. The rest of the ride was completed in silence. After several minutes, they pulled into the parking lot of St. Bart's.   
The trio got out of the car, and quickly sauntered into the laboratory building.  
John thought that this was a little far to go just for a microscope, but followed along.   
Sherlock, John assumed was now out of his Mind Palace because his eyes were open and he had started muttering things aloud as he walked. He wasn't sure if this was much of an improvement from his former state.   
Sherlock led the way to a Staff elevator, swiping a keycard retrieved from his coat pocket.   
"So, are you an intern here?" John inquired.  
Sherlock just looked at him with a exasperated sigh.   
"You really think that I would drop that low John?"   
With that comment, he hit a button on the elevator and swiped the card. The elevator jerked to life and went up about three floors, John guessed.  
"He probably could be, if he wanted to," Lestrade said, after a considerable pause. "He's smart as a whip, really. But instead he chooses to run around solving crimes about potatoes, apparently."  
The elevator doors opened, and John suddenly asked, "How is it that you two know each other anyway?"  
Sherlock and Lestrade looked at one another, and they both erupted into dark chuckles. John thought it best not to ask further.  
They meandered their way through the hallways until they reached a large steel door. Elbowing Lestrade in the process, Sherlock swiped the key card, and opened the door. Lestrade and Sherlock waltzed right into the room, but John stood, frozen, at the door.  
The room was a gigantic laboratory, full of microscopes and also... Potatoes. There were potatoes of every shape, size, and colour being examined in this room. John hardly knew how to react. He was a potato farmer, and yet, he had never seen so many potatoes in the same place at the same time. Overwhelmed, John wiped away a tear.   
In the far corner of the laboratory, there was a young woman in a white coat. Startled by the sudden entrance, she looked up from the blue potato specimen she had been examining.  
"Sherlock!" She exclaimed with surprise, and the glass Petri dish fell to the floor with a smash.   
"And Greg," she added as an afterthought.  
Lestrade motioned for John to join them in the room.  
"John Watson," Lestrade said, gesturing to the girl, "meet Molly Hooper."  
At his name, John tore himself away from this overwhelming sight to face the woman. She couldn't have been much older than Greg, but John assumed she would have to be to be working in a lab the caliber of this one.   
"Hullo. This is..."  
"Oh, it's state of the art-"  
"Inspiring. I never thought that I would ever be in the presence of such potatoes. Did you grow them?"  
She shook her head modestly, her light brown ponytail whipping around with her.   
"Oh no, I just study them. But they are grown right here, why don't I show you?"  
John was about to answer with immense enthusiasm when Sherlock put an end to the potato party.  
"Yes, potatoes, bonding, very good. Were you using this?"  
Sherlock swaggered over to a microscope that was clearly being used, scraping the top of Johns phone onto a slide.   
"Um, no. Let me get you some tea."  
And with that, Molly Hooper left the room.  
Sherlock sat down on the wooden lab stool, and began adjusting the microscope.  
"Well that was rude," Lestrade said, putting his hands on his hips like a disappointed mother.  
"Don't lecture me, Gavin," Sherlock stated snidely.  
"My name's not Gavin," Lestrade clarified through gritted teeth. "It's Greg."  
John spoke up to diffuse the tense atmosphere. "So, Molly Hooper. She knows a thing or two about potatoes. Can she help us too?"  
"No," Sherlock replied immediately, looking through the lens. "Three's company. Four is simply too many."  
John exhaled irritably, trying to comprehend the bizarre, potato-saving genius in front of him. As if sensing John's quizzical stare, Sherlock looked up and met his eyes. He popped the collar on his bel staff jacket, and resumed admiring the potato dust.   
"Don't do that," John snapped.  
"Do what?" Sherlock replied.  
"That. That thing. Popping your collar. Being all mysterious with your... Cheekbones."  
Sherlock scoffed. "I don't do that."  
John sighed. "Yeah you do. And I don't see how being mysterious is going to save my potato. Every minute we're in here arguing is a minute that my potato is alone and afraid in the hands of Moriarty."  
Sherlock held John's gaze.  
"You want to find your potato, John?" Sherlock demanded.  
"Yes," John replied.  
"Then do let me do my work."  
Resigning himself to silence, John proceeded to admire the potatoes around the room. Lestrade pulled out his phone and began composing a text to Sally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Review Review Review Review Review Review Review Review PLEASE


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Molly, more John, more Sherlock, more mysterious potato.

Chapter 5

John didn't think he could be bored of this potato heaven, but after about an hour in a closed room with a silent Sherlock, this was getting a little tiresome. His tea was long cold and the only remaining stool was wobbly and hard.   
Molly approached Sherlock slowly and peered over his shoulder.  
"How are you doing? Do you need any more tea?"  
"You smell different." Sherlock said without looking up from Molly's microscope. Molly took a step back from him and shifted her weight a bit. "Yes, um, I do."  
"You re-applied your perfume while getting tea."  
John was finding this exchange far more interesting than the potatoes, and he was a bit afraid of that thought.   
"Yes, good observation Sherlock. I just thought if I was getting tea I may as well-"  
"Yes, I see."  
John stifled a bewildered snort at Sherlock's ignorance. Hoping to compensate for Sherlock's rudeness, John said, "More tea would be lovely, thanks Molly. It's appreciated."  
Molly smiled slightly. "Okay. Be back in a bit."   
As she skidded out of the room, Sherlock leaned back on the stool suddenly.  
"Ah," he said simply. Lestrade looked up from his phone.  
"What'd you find, mate?" Lestrade demanded, as both he and John approached the microscope.  
"Your potato soil contains traces of a special kind of natural chemical, John," Sherlock explained. "This chemical is one of the most sought-after potato fertilizers. Moriarty has been searching for this chemical for years to grow his potatoes. There is NO doubt that Moriarty stole your prized potato. This is very good."  
John exhaled loudly. "Alright then. So what do we do?"  
Sherlock stood. "I will take a sample of this chemical with us when we meet Moriarty. I will use it as something of a peace offering."  
Lestrade crossed his arms. "But we don't even know where this Moriarty character is!" he exclaimed.  
Sherlock grinned. "Perhaps not. But I know EXACTLY where he will be next."  
Just as the three of them ran to leave the room, Molly came bursting through the steel door with a tray of fresh tea.  
"Thanks but no thanks, Molly," Sherlock said, tying his scarf around his neck. "We're off to the next location. Good day."  
Just as Sherlock went to exit the lab, he stopped dead in his tracks and sniffed the air.  
"Your perfume," he noticed, wafting the air with his hand. "You've removed it."  
Molly coughed anxiously. "Yeah. It wasn't really working for me, so."  
Sherlock paused. "Hmm."  
The tall genius then strode out of the room, his bel staff flapping in the breeze of his own self-importance. John gave an apologetic smile to Molly, and Lestrade clapped her on the back genially. They were off again on this whirlwind adventure; the potato was afoot.  
They returned to Lestrade's car, and when the engine was turned on John glanced at the car radio. The time read 7:48.  
"Oh god, Sherlock, I need to get home, or call someone, I don't know."  
John reached for his phone, fumbling with the keypad. His curfew was at 9:30 and he had a car ride and a train to catch to get all the way back to Sussex.   
"Don't worry John, I've already called."  
"Excuse me? You've called my parents? When would you possibly have had a chance to do that?"  
"While you were drooling over the potatoes I left the room and made sure you wouldn't be missed. I assumed you would want to accompany me on this investigation."  
"Well you aren't wrong, but-"  
"Then it's settled. George, you are driving like an 85 year old. Please speed up. Time is of the essence."  
Lestrade didn't bother correcting Sherlock this time but did retort, "Says the person without a licence."  
John's stomach suddenly dropped.  
"You don't have a licence?! But you drove over here!"


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit shorter, but things are about to get real exciting.

Chapter 6

For the rest of the car ride back to Lestrade's house, John did not speak.  
"John, really," Sherlock complained. "I don't see the purpose of this silent treatment. I know how to drive; having a licence is just a trivial formality."  
John huffed angrily. "No, Sherlock. It's more than a formality. It's the law. Greg, for a student of the criminal justice program, you seem very calm about this."  
Lestrade shrugged, turning up the radio as it blasted "Man in the Mirror" by Michael Jackson through the speakers.  
"It's Sherlock," Lestrade stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "He's been driving since he was thirteen anyway."  
John gazed out the window, shaking his head. "This is absurd," he exclaimed suddenly, rubbing his forehead with his fist. "This is absolutely ridiculous. I just met you today. Both of you. I got on your motorcycle with you, Sherlock, and you don't even have a licence. Now I'm missing my curfew so I can galavant throughout London with you in search of my prized potato, which by the way, is being held hostage by the most dangerous vegetable criminal in England. No, scratch that. The most dangerous vegetable criminal in the entire European Union."  
Sherlock looked contemplative. "Well, technically speaking, England isn't a part of the European Union anymore. So it would be most accurate to say Moriarty is the most dangerous vegetable criminal in the world."  
John blinked. "That's really not helpful."  
"May I point out that you were the one who is still here. You are the one who got on the bike and drove off to London with me. If you want to leave, as I said before, do it."  
Lestrade piped in his two cents.  
"In my opinion, I really don't know why you're still here. Sherlock normally works alone, you see, and you don't seem like the type to leave your crops unchecked to go frolic with this one."  
Lestrade opened his door and climbed out into his driveway.   
John let out a huff and got out of the stuffy car into the cool autumn air.   
Sherlock looked pleased that John had resigned to exhaling.   
"Good luck with the idiots Lestrade." Sherlock called as he handed the green helmet to John and clamoured on the bike.  
Lestrade didn't turn around as he walked back to his house. Instead, he waved one hand behind him. "Thanks, mate. And nice to meet you, John! All the best with your potato. Call my mobile if you need me," he called out, and closed the front door behind him. John could vaguely hear Donovan and Anderson arguing within the home.  
John pulled on his helmet and climbed on the bike, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's warm torso.  
"So where are we off to now?" John inquired.  
"We are going to do one of your favourite things John. Enter in a fair."  
Sherlock revved the engine and sailed down the road, the landscape turning from urban to rural.  
Finally they pulled into a big parking lot next to the fair grounds, which were currently hosting the Arundel County fall fair.   
"Sherlock, you genius! This fair has the best potatoes!"  
"Yes, but that's not the point, John. Come with me."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go DOWN in this chapter. Weirdest chapter in my personal opinion.

Chapter 7

The Arundel County Fair was very mysterious, John mused. The fair, rather funnily, specialized in unique and extraordinary potatoes. There was potatoes the size of pumpkins, potatoes the size of peas, potatoes with pointed edges and of course, the most beautiful potatoes. John wasn't given the chance to gawk over these thing however, because Sherlock had other plans.  
He had gone directly past the midway of the fair, and straight to the Ferris wheel. The line was short, but it felt longer when Sherlock wasn't answering John's questions.   
"Why are we going on the Ferris wheel? How does this have anything to do with-"  
"It has everything to do with your potato John. Do you have any cash?"   
Sherlock climbed into the small basket and left John to pay the fare. John climbed into the basket, the small bench seat leaving little room to spare. A worker brought a safety bar down in front of them and started up the ride again.   
As soon as the ride started, Sherlock took a pocket knife out of his shoe and successfully disabled the safety bar.  
"Why the bloody hell would you do that?"  
John Watson wasn't particularly afraid of heights, but he definitely wast fond of them, especially when there was nothing between him and the packed earth below him. He grabbed the side of the car to keep stable as Sherlock sprang to his feet, almost at the top of the ride. He then took a crow bar out of his coat and stuck it into the mechanism of the ride.  
The ride suddenly jerked to a halt, leaving Sherlock and John at the top of the ride.   
"How could you possibly know you needed a metal bar in your coat?" John spat at him, sincerely distressed at being stuck at the top of a rickety carnival ride with no safety mechanism.  
"It was simple really. After you had told your potato story, I knew we would be headed to a county fair. I wanted to go today because I knew this was the last day of the Arundel County fair and that's a prime spot for potatoes. And in order to survey the fair from a high point, I would need to either climb a tree or a ride inconspicuously. I knew there would be a Ferris wheel, because what self respecting fair doesn't have one, and I knew that it would bring little attention if it were to break down. They wouldn't want to advertise that, bad for business. What other solution was there than to hijack a Ferris wheel with a crow bar?"  
John whistled through his teeth, shook his head, and stared out over the fair grounds. "Unbelievable," he exclaimed.   
Sherlock acknowledged John's comment with a slight smirk before gazing out across the tented field.  
He lifted his hand and traced his fingers over the outline of the fair grounds.  
"You see, John," Sherlock began quietly. "Your sweet potato is a part of a much larger scheme. Moriarty wouldn't miss this Arundel Fair for the world; we just have to figure out where he'd be. He wouldn't be anywhere too obvious, so we can rule out the Most Beautiful Potato section. We can also forget about the Largest Potato section, since Moriarty would never want to reveal his true interest. He must be in... The Smallest Potato section. John, come. The potato is afoot."  
And with that, Sherlock pulled the crow bar free, and the ride stuttered into motion. The various other people on the ride shouted out exclamations of relief.   
John and Sherlock hopped off the bench, and sprinted through the fair towards the furthest tent on the grounds.   
They entered the Smallest Potato tent with flourish, but were shocked when there were only two others within the tent.  
Startled by the sudden intrusion, the pair turned around.  
"Molly?" Sherlock demanded with surprise.  
Sure enough, Molly Hooper was standing there with an unfamiliar young man.  
"Hi Sherlock, and...?" Molly trailed off as she forgot John's name.  
"John Watson," John replied with irritation.  
"John Watson. Sorry, yes. Well, this is James."  
"Gay" Sherlock muttered without looking up from a particularly small potato.  
Molly looked taken aback and meekly answered Sherlock's comment with, "I'm sorry?"  
Sherlock jerked out of his potato daze and faced James.  
He was a boy who couldn't be older than 14, with highly pruned hair and an earbud in one ear. He was wearing ripped flood style jeans and a navy, tight fitting v-neck t-shirt.  
"Oh um, hey." Sherlock spewed out, as if to rectify his former comment dryly but continuing to check out the potatoes.  
James was checking out other things, however. His eyes were first on John, but quickly drifted to Sherlock, drifting between his hair and waist.  
As if to say he noticed where his eyes were, Sherlock combed through the front of his hair with his fingers and put his hands in his pockets. James's eyes flashed with desire.   
John, heartily confused at this non-vocal flirting, broke the awkward silence.  
"So Molly, how do you know James?"  
"Oh, he's just a fellow potato enthusiast. A bit of a Prodigy if you ask me. Tell them James."  
The boy took out his earbud and John could faintly hear "Mamma Mia" before he shoved it in his pocket.  
"Sorry, I never quite caught your names." James said, without breaking his gaze from Sherlock. John hadn't expected his Irish accent. "If he is Irish, he must really know potatoes" John thought.  
"I am Sherlock Holmes, and this is my colleague, John Watson.   
"Colleague, eh?" James eyed John with envy masked as curiosity.  
John cleared his throat. "Colleagues, yes, we've established that."  
James smiled. "Hm. Well, I better shove off; I promised Molly I'd get her some potato punch. It was nice to meet you."  
James looked specifically at Sherlock as he said this, but Sherlock did not glance up from a small blue potato.  
As James went to leave the tent, he stumbled over a wayward potato, and tripped to the floor. "Whoops," he said, laughing awkwardly and picking up the potato before placing it gently on the floor again. He then scurried from the tent, and Molly turned to Sherlock.  
"What d'you mean 'gay'?" she questioned. "We're together...?"  
Sherlock scoffed. "Please. With that level of personal grooming?"  
John coughed. "Because he puts a bit of product in his hair? I put product in my hair."  
Sherlock paused before continuing. "Besides. His jeans were ripped, he was wearing a v-neck, and his iPod was playing the Original Broadway recording of Mamma Mia on repeat."  
Molly barked out an anxious laugh.  
"That doesn't mean anything! He's not gay, he's not."  
Sherlock wandered over to the potato that James had tripped over, and picked it up. "Those factors combined, and the highly suggestive fact that he left his number on this sheet of paper under the potato."  
Molly shot Sherlock a distressed look, and stormed from the tent.  
John glanced at Sherlock, suddenly recognizing his pattern of rude behaviour.  
"Cheers. That was really good, that," John mumbled.  
Sherlock scanned the tent, looking for a Moriarty that clearly wasn't there.  
"I thought it was kinder," Sherlock said absently.  
"No, Sherlock. That... THAT wasn't kind."  
"And it would be kinder to let them continue lying to each-other and themselves? Plus, the age difference could be considered quite disturbing."  
"That was NONE of your business Sherlock, I don't care if they're bo-"  
Sherlock started walking away from John.  
"Where are you going?! You need to understand-"  
"I don't understand." Sherlock spat quietly, wheeling around to face John. He bounded back towards him.  
"I have no idea how this works. I just know that people are happier when they aren't being lied to, and I gave them what they want; the truth."  
With that, Sherlock bounded away from John and the potatoes.  
John was dumbfounded. Was this man really as ignorant as he appeared to be about human emotions? John didn't know if he should look at him with pity or fear.   
"Well, are you coming?"  
John was suddenly aware he was still standing rooted to the spot, his fists still clenched, as Sherlock sauntered away.   
John nodded once, then looked up at the roof. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. God help me, I'm coming. The potato is afoot."  
John strode after the detective as they continued their search for Moriarty at the Arundel County Fair. John continued to wonder why he had agreed to come on this wild goose chase with such a mysterious young man. Well, it wasn't really a wild goose chase. It was a sweet potato chase. It was a sweet potato chase against the most dangerous vegetable criminal in the whole world.   
But despite his initial misgivings, he found that he was surprisingly excited by the whole adventure. As a potato farmer, he had never known such excitement before.  
Before John knew what was happening, Sherlock stalked over to the motorcycle again.  
"Wait, I don't understand," John said, gesturing to the bike.  
"You should put that on a t-shirt," Sherlock mocked, strapping on his helmet. "What don't you understand John?"  
John frowned. "We just got to this fair. We're already leaving? What was the point?"  
Sherlock smiled. "Moriarty is one step ahead of us, John. He is guarding your potato with great care. He wouldn't be so careless as to come to this fair himself. I was sniffing out his network. He's rather clever. I can tell you with absolute certainty that a member of Moriarty's network was here today. And he left a trail. John, this case is absolutely wonderful, thank you!"  
John blinked. "I still don't understand."  
Sherlock sighed. "And there's the back of the t-shirt."  
But John realised that he'd begun to trust this Sherlock Holmes implicitly. So, ignoring his doubts, he buckled his helmet. But just as he went to jump on the back of the bike, John was knocked to the ground by a running woman.  
The woman stopped, and turned to look down.  
"Oh, I'm sorry!" she exclaimed, reaching down and helping John stand. "That was totally my fault, I'm so sorry. I'm Mary, by the way."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary showed up!? Don't trust her John!

Chapter 8

John turned around to meet this mysterious Mary, and what he saw wasn't what he had expected. Potato farmers tended to be on the...homely side of things. But this woman, John couldn't figured out why she would be at a potato festival. She was just shorter than he was, but John was fairly short to begin with, and her hair was that of a movie star. Her long blonde curls were swept to the side, resting on her collarbone, exposed in her off the shoulder blue shirt.   
Their eyes met.  
"No it's, it's alright. Hullo Mary, I'm John Watson. Are you from around here?"  
They let go of each other's hands and left Sherlock waiting in his bike.   
"Oh, no, I used to farm in Canada but I recently moved. I just have a passion for potatoes. You?"  
"Lived here my whole life. I can't believe you love potatoes, I love potatoes!"  
Meanwhile, Sherlock had dismounted the bike and was walking towards the pair.   
"Hello Mary. My name is William Scott, I see you've already met my colleague. You said you you had a passion for potatoes!"   
John was thoroughly confused by this change in Sherlock. Not only was he actually interacting with people, he was smiling. The fact he wasn't using his real name either was particularly mysterious.  
Mary extended her hand. "Hi William. Are you a potato farmer too?"  
Sherlock replied without hesitation. "Yes, I am. Have been all my life, really. It's my passion."  
John was utterly confused. Why was Sherlock lying?   
"So what sort of potatoes do you specialize in Mary?" Sherlock asked, as if there was nothing more interesting in the world.  
"I adore yellow skinned potatoes and-"  
Sherlock didn't wait for her to answer.  
"How do you feel about sweet potatoes?"  
Mary's expression changed to one of slight nervousness.  
"They hold a special place in my heart."  
With this, Sherlock smiled slyly, back to his normal expression. He slowly placed one hand inside his coat and walked around to the back of Mary.  
"Well Mary, how do you feel about... LYING POTATOES!"  
And with that, Sherlock swiftly lifted a napkin out of his coat and covered Mary's face with it.  
As soon as Mary had realized she was getting attacked, she reached inside of her own pocket and drew a small switch blade. John, distressed at this sudden change of events, stood watching until he saw the glint of the blade. With that, he sprung to Sherlock's aid without a second thought.   
"What the BLOODY hell, Sherlock?" John exclaimed, as Sherlock lowered Mary, unconscious, onto the grass.  
"She was a threat, John," Sherlock explained. "Mary was a former potato sniper. That's a person who dispatches successful potatoes before they can become a threat. She worked for the CIA."  
John scrunched his nose. "She wasn't supposed to be like that, Sherlock."  
Sherlock looked down at Mary. "She'll be alright. But we can't trust her."  
John looked back at the fair. There were tons of people, and soon those people would want to go to their cars.  
"Well what are we going to do with her? We can't just leave an unconscious woman lying on your bike! That might look a little CONSPICUOUS!" John was is a panic again. He couldn't get arrested in this stage of his potato farming life, that would hurt his prospects.   
"And it's no at all conspicuous that you are yelling and gesturing to an unconscious blonde! I know what to do, just calm down."  
"I AM BLOODY CALM SHERLOCK!"  
Sherlock shot his eyes at John.  
"Okay, I'm fine Sherlock, I'm fine. What are we going to do?"  
"I think it's time to fly John."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "How do you feel about...LYING POTATOES?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TIME TO FLY! Also BoBo is pronounced Bow-bow like hair bow.

Chapter 9

After much preparation, they had finally lugged Mary's unconscious body all the way to the hot aid ballon section of the fair. There was one hot air ballon ready to take off. It's balloon was painted like a sweet potato, which made John smile. Thankfully it was unattended. They all made their way into the green basket, which was just bigger the. The back of a pickup truck, and Sherlock turned up the flame. The balloon began to rise.  
"Wait, not my potato!"   
Out of nowhere, a vicious looking farmer bounded towards them with his equally as vicious looking Portuguese Waterdog at his side.   
"Get'm BoBo!" He yelled at the dog.   
But BoBo had other plans. As Sherlock cut the rope tying the balloon down, BoBo chased a flying leaf past the balloon and across the field.   
"BoBo, NO!"  
Desperately, the farmer himself tried to catch the rope hanging out of his beloved sweet potato balloon, but is was too late.  
"The potato is afloat, John!"  
The potato continued to rise, BoBo and the farmer disappearing off into the distance.   
"Sherlock, can you fly this thing?"  
John was getting nervous at the way Sherlock was looking at the balloon's mechanism, as if it were a good rutabaga mystery.   
"Don't be ridiculous John. Any person with an understanding of simple science can fly a hot air balloon."  
This vague answer only heightened John's nerves.   
"Let me rephrase; do you have any past experience piloting a hot air balloon?"  
"That is irrelevant to my piloting skills." Sherlock's eyes remained fixed on the flame.  
"Sherlock, if you don't tell me right now-"  
"John, obviously I don't have experience flying a hot air balloon. Even I could not have deduced that I would find myself in such a singular situation. If it makes you feel any better, I know how to fly a plane. Now I would appreciate it if you would be quiet, because as we have established, I do not know how to fly a hot air balloon."   
John, exasperated, crossed to the other side of the small basket. The sun had almost disappeared behind the exquisite view of the Arundel countryside with London in the distance.   
After some time of brooding, through the dark it was clear that Sherlock had some idea what he was doing, bringing the balloon in the direction of London. John walked back to Sherlock.   
"That was quite the day." John murmured.   
Sherlock gazed into the abyss of night. "John, you were amazing. Absolutely inspiring. Your passion for potatoes is something I've never seen before. It's just-"  
"No, I'd just leave if there. That's a nice place to leave it."  
"It's just... People who are close to me, they tend to..."  
"I don't want to be anywhere else."  
How flirty that sentence was didn't quite register to John until the words had left his mouth. He went to awkwardly say that that's not what he meant, but Sherlock's expression stopped him. His expression was somewhere between bewilderment, pride, and just plain bliss. The only time John had seen Sherlock happy was when he was outsmarting his enemy's, or something else sly. This was distinctly different.  
The lights of London had just appeared in their line of view as Mary slowly came to at the bottom of the balloon basket. Made anxious by this, Sherlock nudged her gently with his foot.  
"Blast," he muttered. "She's waking up."  
John bent down, and looked at Mary as her eyes fluttered open.  
Mary glanced back and forth between the two of them, suddenly realizing that they were no longer on the ground.  
"Where the bloody hell are we?" she snapped.   
"An air balloon," Sherlock replied. "A bit obvious, surely?"  
Mary gazed at him incredulously. "No."  
John crossed his arms. "What do we do now, Sherlock? You're the genius. What do we do now? We have a potato sniper with us in a ballon carriage, and were sailing above London. In the sky. At night. In a balloon. Brilliant."  
Sherlock scoffed, visibly comforted by the fact that Mary was making no efforts to get up.  
"Ye have little faith, John," he said, repeating the old adage.   
Mary huffed irritably. "I'm not a potato sniper anymore! That's my past. I'm done with all that rubbish, honest. I don't want any part of it. If you respect me at all, don't ask me about it."  
John glanced down at the former potato-thieving woman, and immediately trusted her.  
"The problems of your past are your business," he said strongly, "and the problems of your future are my pleasure."  
And with that, John extended a hand to help her to her feet. Sherlock regarded them with stoic resolve.  
Mary smiled at John. "Perhaps we should start again, hmm? I'm Mary Morstan: potato enthusiast ONLY. I work for AGRA Potato Farms."  
"John Watson: potato-retrieving sidekick to Sherlock Holmes."  
The two new friends laughed amicably, before Sherlock stormed between them to look out from the other side of the basket.  
"Yes, chatting, second chances, how wonderful. The potato is afoot, so if you don't mind, perhaps we could get back on task?"   
John cleared his throat. "Um, yeah. Yeah of course. Where to now, then?"  
Sherlock nodded at Mary.  
"We stop in London, and we drop her off."  
Mary looked at him, her eyes flashing angrily. "Excuse me? You virtually suffocate me, drag me along on this balloon ride, and then believe that I'm going to just run along home? No, I expect not. I'm coming."  
Sherlock rolled his eyes with undisguised annoyance, but said nothing. He merely looked to John.  
"Let her come, Sherlock," John agreed. "You did knock her out."  
"I can be useful," Mary added, glancing sharply at Sherlock. "I know a great deal about potato crime."  
Sherlock nodded once, then turned away from them both. Mary gave a sly smile.  
Within moments of this exchange, Sherlock skillfully lowered the balloon onto a field outside London.  
Sherlock climbed out of the basket, and rather surprisingly, offered his hand to help Mary out.  
She looked at it disdainfully. "I can get down on my own, thanks."  
Sherlock inhaled sharply and slowly lowered his hand, putting on an extremely forced smile.   
John clamoured out behind her, reviving an extremely dirty look from Sherlock.   
Mary pulled out her phone.  
As quick as it was out, Sherlock snatched it from her and threw it across the field.   
"What the hell?!"  
"They will be tracking you. It's safer if we got rid of our mobiles."  
Mary was bright red; this was the last straw.  
"Sherlock," she breathed, her voice quivering with anger, "I was JUST going on Pokemon Go!"  
"Gotta catch'em all" John chuckled under his breath, but if anyone heard him they didn't react.   
Sherlock shook his head. "Absurd game. Really absurd. Perhaps, if you are so inclined, you would prefer to chase around electronic creatures with STUPID names like Rattatat than accompany us on this case."  
Mary gaped. "As if chasing after a sweet potato is any better!"  
John sighed with agitation. "Okay, thank you, girls. Can we move on? Besides, Sherlock- you don't know that the world revolves around the sun, but you know that there's a Pokemon called Rattatat?" John exclaimed.  
Sherlock sighed. "That is, first and foremost, none of your business, John. And secondly, we have a sweet potato to find."  
Mary glanced at the home screen on her mobile. "You both do realise it's after eleven o'clock, right?"  
John looked at Mary. "We do realise. But this potato is in jeopardy."  
Sherlock suddenly paused. "John, how did you know about my knowledge of the solar system?"  
John coughed awkwardly. "Well, um. Your website, it mentioned... I sort of looked you up before I came today. Made sure you weren't a looney toon, you know?"  
A smug smile grew on Sherlock's face. "Ah."


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is getting climactic.

Chapter 10

Sherlock's room had a kind of eerie feel at this time of night, with the window open and the moonlight seeping in. The room also felt extremely small, with all of Sherlock's clutter, plus the three visitors.   
There was a scratching at the locked door. Mary and John turned to each other fearfully, but Sherlock rolled his eyes.   
"Oh, let him in. That's just Redbeard, my dog."  
John was somehow stuck in the wooden chair once again, Sherlock at a stool by his desks gazing through a microscope, and Mary in the grey chair in the corner.  
John got up and soundlessly opened the door.  
Just as John pulled the wooden door free of the jam, a large, red Irish Setter came bounding through the door. Immediately, the dog scurried to Sherlock's side. Sherlock patted the dog's back absently, without looking away from the microscope slide.  
John glanced back and forth between Mary (who was doing something with her mobile; John assumed it was Pokemon Go again), Sherlock, and Redbeard.  
"I hate to nag," John said quietly, biting at a hangnail. "But I'm just curious. What are we going to do now? I thought you knew where Moriarty would be next? Where my potato would be?"  
Sherlock looked up from his slide. "I DO know where Moriarty is. I DO know where your potato is. I'm just biding my time. We're meeting him at the abandoned Potato Cultural Festival Grounds at midnight. Isn't that right, Mary?"  
Mary's attention snapped up from her mobile. Her face was incredibly pale.  
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean?" she exclaimed.  
Sherlock nodded. "I know you don't. Not yet, anyway. Not for another few seconds. I'd say... Three, two, one..."  
Mary's mobile buzzed excitedly just as the last word left Sherlock's mouth. John felt his mouth fall open.  
"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed, only this time, it was different. He was amazed, truly amazed, at Sherlock's abilities.   
Mary opened the message. "It's from an unknown number."  
Sherlock grinned. "Brilliant, Mary!"  
Mary looked affronted, but somewhat pleased. "Really?"  
"Yes, brilliant impression of an idiot. Of COURSE it's an unknown number. It's Moriarty. You wouldn't happen to have his number on speed dial, would you?"  
Mary shook her head at Sherlock's scathing sarcasm.  
"How does he have my number?" she asked nervously.  
Sherlock waved his hand flippantly. "Easy and unimportant. Read the message, Mary."  
Mary squinted at the message.  
"12AM. PCF Grounds. Heart emoji."  
John gasped. "It's really him, isn't it? This is Moriarty."  
Sherlock smiled. "Yes John. Come. The potato is afoot."  
And with that, Sherlock grabbed John's wrist, tugging him from the room.  
Mary paused a moment after the boys ran from the bedroom. She looked down at her mobile, and released an anxious sigh. With great reluctance, she began to compose a reply to the mysterious message.  
"All as planned. The Sign of Three is go. Will be there soon."  
After reviewing her message to ensure it was clear of error, she hurriedly scampered after Sherlock and John.  
"So, um, Sherlock. You do have a plan.?"  
Sherlock swung his coat on in the doorway and rolled his eyes. He pushed through the door as he mumbled, "Of course I do John."  
"You're lying," John whispered loudly as he speed walked to catch up with Sherlock so Mary, who was lagging behind them, couldn't hear.  
"I can tell when you're lying Sherlock, you may fool Molly or Greg, but you can't fool me."  
Sherlock must have called an Über, because a brown Nissan was waiting outside the house.   
Sherlock smiled excitedly at John.  
"And that, John, is why you're still here."  
They all packed into the Über, John getting squished in the middle, although she didn't mind so much. He thought it better that Sherlock and Mary weren't in close proximity to each other.   
The red headed driver asked the destination, and then they were off.  
The anticipation in the car was very tangible. Between the tension between the passengers, the excitement of a new chapter of their adventure, and the fear of the ominous Moriarty, everyone was on edge.   
Slowly, the car rolled to a stop in front of a decrepit tent, jarring the three passengers out of their silent thoughts.  
"Should I call Lestrade?" John demanded. "In case something should go awry...?"  
Mary looked up. "No. Don't do that. If Moriarty found out, who knows what he'd do."  
Sherlock nodded. "Mary's right, John. Besides, Lestrade is, for the most part, an idiot. By the time he called for help, we'd in all likelihood already be dead."  
John snorted. "Cheers."  
The three of them got out of the Über, and Sherlock took John's arm.  
"John," he said quietly, looking into the shorter man's eyes mysteriously as they walked. "We are about to meet the most dangerous vegetable criminal in London. He runs the most powerful vegetable mafia in the world. I need you to really consider this: is your potato worth the possible consequences?"  
John clenched his fists with determination. "Yes. As my mother always says: You have to risk it to get the biscuit. I need that potato, Sherlock. I need it back."  
Sherlock nodded, offering a small, guarded smile. "It's just the two of us against the rest of the world, then."  
John cleared his throat. "Well, and Mary. Mary too, mind. She's here... too, you know. Don't forget Mary."  
Sherlock caught himself. "Yes, of course. Mary too. I'm sorry, I miscounted. There's three of us."  
Something resembling sadness formulated across Sherlock's features. John glanced around suddenly.  
"Speaking of Mary, where did she go?" he demanded.  
Sherlock stopped in his tracks, and looked back out to the road.  
Mary stood by the road, staring down at her mobile.  
"I have to go," she called out. "My mum's worrying, I have to go back home."  
John swayed on the spot. "Do you need a ride? Should I walk with you?"  
"No!" both Sherlock and Mary shouted at the same time. John shot Sherlock an unappreciative stare.  
"No thank you," Mary corrected politely. "My house is just a couple blocks from here, I'll be fine."  
John raised his eyebrows. "Yeah? You're sure?"  
"I'm sure. Thank you, John Watson, for the adventure. And... you too, Sherlock Holmes."  
With that, Mary waved, and turned on her heels to walk down the road. John stared after her until Sherlock put his hand on his shoulder.  
Little did either of them know, that Mary did not, in fact, leave the fair grounds.  
"Come on, John. The potato is afoot," Sherlock said.  
John turned, and the pair walked slowly to the abandoned tent on the middle of the property.  
Sherlock swept aside the curtain of the tent, and they entered it cautiously. To their immense surprise, the interior was lit with various LED lamps shaped like potatoes. Sherlock walked guardedly, positioning himself so he was just in front of John. John didn't know if Sherlock was intentionally trying to protect him, or if he just didn't have any awareness of personal space. John just assumed it was the latter, since Sherlock didn't seem the type to protect someone.  
Suddenly, Sherlock whipped out a small plastic baggie of John's potato chemical from his jacket.  
"A peace offering," Sherlock called out. "This is what it's all about, isn't it?"  
John jumped, as he heard the sound of the tent fabric swooshing behind them.  
"I gave you my number. I thought you might call."  
A young man's voice rang out in the dimly illuminated room. Sherlock spun around to find a figure standing behind them.  
To their immense shock, it was the Irish fourteen year old Molly had attended the Arundel County Fair with.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first chapter of my first fanfic EVER so please review. Constructive criticism is wanted. Thank you so much for taking the time to read.


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